


I'm Here

by Silverdart



Series: Drabbles of the Lost Light [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Chronic Illness, Established Relationship, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, cybercrosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverdart/pseuds/Silverdart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tailgate's cybercrosis has developed past what Ratchet can treat. All Cyclonus can do is hope he can pull through, and hope he himself doesn't falter in the face of an uncertain future. That is easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short drabble about Cyclonus dealing with Tailgate's chronic condition.
> 
> The prompt was the word "chronic".

Cyclonus stared blankly forward, optics burning into the wall to distract himself from reality. He didn't want to believe it, he could not falter. Tailgate depended on him, on his strength in dark times of pain. He could not falter now, or they may as well had given up. 

He would not allow such a thing. He couldn't. 

He let out a roar of air from his vents, servos coming up to hold his helm in their palms. The heels pressed into his optics and his claws curled, digging scratches into the enamel of his paint. Cyclonus had not felt such pain since Cybertron, since everything he fought for was for naught and his home held nothing and no one for him. 

From the moment he took residence on the Lost Light, Tailgate was there. The annoying little minibot that irritated, coddled and hovered over the jet like no other had. The amazing, adorable little mech that did not judge his past deeds, offered him comfort and companionship during long cold nights in their hab-suite, and had taught Cyclonus how to love someone more that anything in existence. 

It just wasn't FAIR. How dare fate chose Tailgate, the only innocent pure mech on the ship ,perhaps the only Cybertronian alive, that had never done anything wrong. Though his frame was million of cycles old, his mentality was much younger. His life had virtually just begun. Why couldn't it have been Cyclonus? He was older, had seen more injury, was more susceptible to viruses and instead it was Tailgate that was diagnosed with cybercrosis. 

A soft knock on the door drew his attention from his thoughts. He was tempted to ignore it, or slide it open and throttle the mech behind it for disturbing him. He did not move until the knocking had increased three fold, confidence bleeding into their beats. 

He slowly rose to his pedes and moved to the door, hesitating with his claw over the button to open. It was pressed and Cyclonus was greeted with bright red and orange plating. Optics drifting upwards coldly, they met with the dim blue light of the other's that did not match his usual cocky flair.

"Rodimus." Cyclonus's voice firm and frigid, to hide his internal turmoil. 

The young Prime gave a small sad smile that disappeared at the jet's glare. "Hey Cyclonus. I just though I would come 'round and see how you're-"

Cyclonus growled low in his engine. "I do not care for your games nor your attitude this orn Prime or any other. If you do not have any true reason for being here I request you leave. Immediately." 

Rodimus winced, uncharacteristically downcast and he nearly whispered. "Ratchet needs you in the medical bay. It's Tailgate. He's-" 

The Prime didn't have the chance to finish his sentence, the ex-Decepticon rushing past him and striding in the direction of the med-bay at a near running pace. He wanted to get there quickly but... He did not want to face what he might be true. Mechs in the hallways parted like a knife was cutting a rift meant only for Cyclonus, all knowing by now the situation he and Tailgate were in. They did not question him or make any attempt to interact with him.

Cyclonus faintly heard the tap of Rodimus following him, but paid him no mind. Tailgate is who matters, not Prime, not anybody else. 

The dual doors to the med-bay came into view and Cyclonus ran the last hundred meters to reach them. They slid open to his presence and he entered the empty bay, berths and instruments immaculately clean, moreso than normal. Sterile. 

A gurgled, disgusting hack reached his audios and he swung towards the private room that had been Tailgate's for joors. Had the door not been unlocked he would have broken it down in his haste to get in.  
In the room he saw his mate bent double over a waste reciprocal, Ratchet standing by his side with his servo rubbing circles over his backplates. The minibot's frame shuddered, hacking up partially processed energon into the bin with a wet sob.

Cyclonus rushed to the berthside and sent a desperate and pleading glance to Ratchet, who nodded in permission. He moved onto the berth and gathered the little bot into his arms, pressing his warm chest to Tailgate's back and rubbing his sides and chest plates. Tailgate collapsed back into his hold, panting feverishly with a dribble of energon from his mouth. 

The sight disturbed Cyclonus and he quickly drew a cloth from his sub space to wipe it away tenderly, optics locking with Tailgate's through his visor. The minibot gave a weak, shaky grin. 

"C-Cyclonus... Hey." 

"Hey." Cyclonus whispered back, unwilling to maintain his pride in the face of his mate's pain, despite Ratchet's presence in the room. Nobody else would know, confidentiality intact. 

The medic disposed of the bin down a waste chute in the wall, toxic contaminated energon sent to be burned in the incinerator. 

"He's having a hard time holding his energon down." The gruff medic said. " I'm going to put him on an I.V. for his fluids, and give his throat cables a chance to recover. His regurgitation seems to have burnt out a few nodes in the process."

Cyclonus nodded, conceding to Ratchet's expertise. His servos trailed slowly over his lover's plating, relishing in the light pleased sigh it earned him. Sensing the worst was over Ratchet picked up Tailgate's medical datapad and made notes. 

One such note was the complete degradation of the sensors in Tailgate's legs. They did not even react involuntarily to stimuli any more, completely limp. His systems were on the fritz as well, rejecting nutrition in attempts to purge the cybercrosis infected metal from his frame. The overall symptoms were not encouraging, worsening as time passed. At the current rate, Ratchet doubted Tailgate would remain online another three orns, five at the most if the processor maintained control over his systems. 

Helplessness was a new emotion for both Ratchet and Cyclonus, both unbelieving that the little waste disposal mech that had weaselled his way into the sparks of half the ship could offline in such little time. 

Ratchet set up the fluid drip and hooked it into Tailgate's cables before leaving the room, heading out to find Drift. As taxing as the situation was, he could only imaging how much worse it was for the two he left in the room. 

With the newfound privacy Cyclonus smoothly began to rock, claws continuing to trace the seams of Tailgate's spark chamber.

"What did you do today?" Tailgate asked, small servo raising shakily to rest against the arm wrapped around his waist. 

" I had my appointment with Rung in the early on-cycle. He was... helpful. Then I went back to our hab-suite and remained there until I was called here to see you. I thought that you-" Emotions were difficult for Cyclonus, and it frustrated him in times like this. He never knew what to say, how to explain what he thought. 

Tailgate hummed, helm nuzzling back into the jet's collar. "That sounds boring." He giggled quietly, wriggling slightly in Cyclonus's lap to get comfortable. "You should have gone to Swerve's or something, get out a little and socialize." He paused before laughing softly. "Oh wait, this is you we're talking about. 

Mirth brushed across Cyclonus's field and in his spark, along with pleasurable familiarity. Cyclonus carefully reciprocated, pushing his love and concern over the bond. "You are having trouble eating." He said, more of an observation than a question.

The minibot's exposed face plates tightened faintly and he looked down to guide his servo to lace over his mate's. "Yeah, a bit. I'm hungry most of the time, but it's hard not to just throw it back up a klik later. I would love some highgrade to help the pain a bit, but I could kill for one of First Aid's goodies right now. They're always so good." 

Tailgate's voice trailed off slightly and Cyclonus saw his optics dim tiredly. His mate tried to cover it up by telling him what had happened that cycle in the med-bay, but Cyclonus could see his thirst for recharge. 

The jet slowly moved forward on the berth to lay back with Tailgate against his side, helm pressed down on the plush surface. The mini chirped questioningly but settled quickly, huddling closer to the warm spark chamber on his bond mate, careful not to pull out the drip in his inner wrist. 

"Recharge now Tailgate, you'll feel better tomorrow." 

"Will you..." Tailgate trailed off, falling silent. 

"Yes?" Cyclonus murmured. "Will I what Tailgate? Ask me." 

Tailgate shuffled as close as possible, plating touching from helm to thigh, legs angled away. Cyclonus lowered his arm and moved the legs to drape across his. 

"Will you sing to me?" 

Cyclonus rumbled comfortingly. "As you wish." 

His deep voice reverberated through the quiet room, low in an old Cybertronian hymn. 

"Cyconus?" 

"I'm here Tailgate." 

"I love you." 

The slow rhythm continued long after Tailgate surrendered to recharge, long into the night. Cyclonus continued, spilling his thoughts and feelings into the song. 

"I'm here."


End file.
